Sheat 19, 229: The Brothers Kilgour

Sheat 19, 229: The Brothers Kilgour
Summary: King Tyrel calls Prince Logen to task for his recent escapades.
OOC Date: June 6th 2014
Related: None
Players:
Tyrel Logen 
Throne Room
The feature of the Throne Room of Darfield Castle that draws most eyes immediately is the magnificent throne, raised on a dais at the far end of the room. The Kilgour Family coat of arms, passed down from father to son through the centuries, occupies a place of honor above the royal throne.
A carpet of red softens the path down the center of the white marble floor. To each side of the carpet, stand tall silver vases of Stargazer Lilies and Irises, their heady scent drifting through the air. The cool marble walls have been draped with mingling swathes of purple and silver silk, with touches of white for smooth contrast. Set about the room, tall silver candelabras hold long purple tapers, their soft glow gleaming on the rug and silks. On the balcony above, more swathes of purple and silver silk have been draped.
To the side, there is an almost hidden stairway to the Hall of Chambers. Rioga guards stand on either side of this door, at all hours.
Sheat 19, 229

It is late in the evening, the weather is hot and the sky outside the castle is overcast. Logen's supper was cleared an hour past when he receives word from a servant that his brother, the King, requires his pressence in the throne room.

Tyrel is alone in the throne room, seated in his chair. He wears light silks over decorative leather and plate. The crown rests on his head, and across his lap rests the sword of kings. His eyes are lowered, looking at the blade, which he turns slightly so that Logen can see his brother's eyes reflected in the blade, and Tyrel can watch Logen's approach in the bright steel.

The younger prince walks quietly into the throne room. He's not been sitting idle in his room and that can be seen from the muscles he's built up. He's wearing soft treaded boots, leather pants, an ivory tunic and a vest with their family colors. His hair has started to grow back from how he shaved it when he left though it's still not long enough to show the curls. Just a mass of cowlicks. He's shaved so he can be presentable. When he comes within a dozen feet, he goes to his knee. "You summoned me, my king?"

Tyrel lifts his gaze from the blade to look over Logen, "I did, brother, and before that I bade you to stay. I'm pleased that you found it within yourself to obey one of my directives, though I would have preferred you heeded the first as it would have prevented the need for the second." Tyrel stands and sheathes the sword in the holder on his back. "Rise and come select what you would prefer to drink, your tastes have always been too mercurial for me to predict." Tyrel steps down off the dias moving towards the sideboard, the servants have withdrawn and the guards move back to the doorways leaving the brothers almost alone.

Logen stands up moving towards where the drinks are. He doesn't speak as he glances them over before he sees what he's looking for. He takes a cup and pours himself water. Water for the man who used to drink like a fish. He takes a big drink of it and keeps his head bowed, pouring some more. He even bathed before he came to see his brother. He takes a step back from the table and keeps his head bowed.

Tyrel takes up a bottle of mead for himself, "I had almost hoped that you would have selected something stronger, had you fallen back into those habits I might have blamed some portion of your behavior on the drink." He inspects the seal on his bottle for a moment then begins working the wax off the top. "As that does not appear to be the case, tell me why it is you decided to leave when you were instructed to stay."

Logen's jaw tightens and his breathing quickens. He keeps his head bowed. "My king, I felt that being guarded in a castle was not going to show the people that you cared for them. That the war wasn't just politics to you and their lives. I went in secret to fight beside them. You know as well as I do that not many can match me in battle." He takes another sip of his water. "I wanted to fight because our people to defend our home, for you, my king." He puts the water down feeling undeserved. He takes more steps back and puts his hands behind his back, keeping his head bowed.

Tyrel pours a his cup full of mead, "One can not go in secret to provide an example brother, much as one can not show loyalty through disobedience…unless they are showing loyalty to one who has become so incompetent that they must be disobeyed to be protected." Tyrel drinks a small sip, "I should think you struck near the truth of the matter at the last, I do know that there are few who can match you in battle, and I think it is your wish that more should know it. I suspect that you also wanted to fight."

Logen frowns and takes a calming breath. He bites his tongue and does not return a word. His brother is already making judgment so he stands there quietly. His hands behind his back as he moves to the center of the room and stands there, head bowed. His eyes on the floor at his feet while he keeps his breathing calm.

Tyrel returns to the throne, "I recall father having similar conversations with you in the past…" Tyrel pauses, brushing his hand across the silk, iron and leather covering his chest then reaching up behind his head to remove the sword from the holder so he can sit. "I should say that he had conversations with you for similar reasons, I recall his temperament being more volatile." Another drink is taken as the sword is laid across his knees, then he says, "I am not father, brother, I do not have the luxury of treating you like an unruly younger son. Failing to have you obey me will not be viewed as a father having a boisterous son but as a king who cannot control his subjects. I have no wish to be viewed as a failure, or to have you viewed as a traitor to the crown. Have you any interest in being branded for treason?"

Logen keeps his head down and doesn't speak. He doesn't bother. He goes to his knee and keeps controlling his breathing. His heart though pounding in his chest. He keeps his head down even if he wishes to speak, he doesn't.

Tyrel says, "I will take that as a 'no', though I had hoped you would must enough enthusiasm to at least muster the sound." He sips his mead once more before continuing, "I do have a saving grace of which father did not have the luxury. A pair of them, in fact. With my sons born and growing well it is less likely that you will need to sit the throne so, unlike father, I can stop trying to force you to be that which you are not."

Logen keeps his head bowed and he feels the burning in his eyes. He doesn't move though. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding together. The reminder of that which he's lost multiple times brings the pain. His shoulders slump forward as he tilts his head further down hiding the pained expression on his face. His breathing isn't calm anymore. It's quick and shallow.

Tyrel says, "I expected some word of thanks or sign of your relief, brother, yet you seem turned tighter than one of the springs in Baron Caedmon's time keeping contraption. Are you not pleased? I am giving you what you seemed to pursue so desperately, the freedom to go and carve your name into the legends of our people with the sharpness of your sword and strength of your arm."

Logen finally stands and lifts his eyes, tears in them. "You don't know me at all, my king." His voice barely audible. "I wanted to defend our home. I didn't want them to know me. If I did, I would have rode in proclaiming who I was. I never did. I snuck in, saved lives, then came back when you called." His eyes locked on his brothers. "If everything you have been saying is what you believe of me… that's the person you think is your little brother, no wonder you hate me. I'm sorry for whatever I did to you that made you think I was such a horrible person who would turn war, where people die, into my own glory."

Tyrel meets Logen's gaze and holds it without the slightest flinch or hesitation, "You disobeyed me." He pauses, "When I need generals and leaders you sneak off to play soldier, you go to save a few lives in one battle when you should have been saving thousands by working to win this war. If it was not glory you sought then it was hubris and pride which drove you, and if not those then it was foolishness. Your saving grace, brother, is that I do not think there is malice in you."

Logen's jaw tighten. "It was none of it. I wanted to forget. Have you forgotten you took my wife from me? The one you forced on me a month after my first wife and daughter died. The one I was growing to love." He shakes his head. "I needed to hit something. It wasn't glory, hubris, or pride…or even foolishness. I went because I felt so absolutely alone and it was driving me to such anger that standing around here commanding people from behind a wall didn't feel right." He takes a step back away from his brother. "You think so little of me. So the ranger calling me a coward, a failure, those were your words." He grins and huffs quietly. "I would have fought for you until my dying breath, been loyal, been a brother. Yet clearly, you do not think of me like that. I am a pebble in your boot. Do as you wish with me, for I am truly alone." He bows his head again. The voice of a man giving up.

Tyrel's expression shifts slightly, "I will have a word with the ranger, it is not his place to judge you and I do not recall giving him instruction to pass such a message. In regards to my feelings for you I would suggest you consider how I treat those who leave their post at wartime, brother, and you will realize quickly how much I love you. You are not hanging black-tongued and bulge-eyed as another deserter would." He drinks from his cup again, "I have no wish to see you fighting until your dying breath, brother, it would mean you died far too young, or that this war has lasted far too long. I wished for you to fight when I told you to fight, and stay when I told you to stay."

Logen frowns and shakes his head. "You aren't speaking as if you love me at all. You are treating me like I am the same man I was a year ago. I have nothing left and that changes a man. I needed something to hold onto. It was family. Then mom died, then I get married to a woman I don't know, then dad dies, then as I'm falling in love, you break the marriage. I was sitting in my room dying so I decided to change myself. To fight. You don't care if I die. You have your sons, no heir is needed. I am not needed." He looks away from Tyrel. "You want a dog." He frowns and stares at a wall. "I will be your fighting dog. Really, what else can I be?" He bows his head and goes quietly.

Tyrel says, "I have dogs, I require a knight. As for the rest, I am no longer coddling you." Tyrel gestures with his cup, "That is another gift I wish to give you."

Logen frowns and lifts his eyes. "So the first gift was not stringing me up for being treasonously defending our home?" He shakes his head and takes a step back, anger in his eyes. "You want me to be perfect for you, I can act. I will be silent, I will be at your side. I will defend your honor. All other times, when not royally summoned, I'll be in my room. Out of sight, out of mind." He takes more steps back. "Your brother dies in this moment. Whatever is left, is what you command." The expression on the princes face goes from pained, to cold. There is no emotion there anymore as he stands silently staring forward.

Tyrel says, "While useful, I should think this will not be an attitude which lasts very long, but for as long as you wish to play at it do enjoy yourself. I require you to begin gathering what men will follow you. I suggest you ask amongst those knights who come from lesser families as they will be the most eager to earn ransom and take their due. You should also enlist some scouts and if you can budget them rangers, a quartermaster and those others required to supply your troop. Once you have assembled your company you will begin making raids into Laniveer. You will, however, be acting within the bounds of chivalry, so be selective on those men you engage as any dishonor the commit falls to you."

Logen bows his head. "Yes your majesty." His voice cold and without any inflection. He doesn't even react to the insult. He stares at nothing while he gets his orders to build his own army and raid. "Is that all your majesty?"

Tyrel nods, "For the moment, brother, though once you've had a chance to salve your pride I have hopes that you will find it within yourself to join me for a game of chess. It is dull playing aginst those who never win and the Kincaids lay so much superstition and circumstance over the games that it is almost impossible to enjoy the contest."

Logen bows his head. "Your majesty, I have no pride and you would surely win a game of chess against a fool. Shall I go to gather your raiding parties? The hour is not yet to late. I could be out of your shoe by morning."

Tyrel says, "Company, not a parties, brother. You will organize and fund it and you must see that it remain profitable for those you employ or else they will not be in your employ for long. If you expect to set off before morning then I think you will find you've set off poorly. I understand that even an experienced commander can take some weeks to gather the appropriate men and supplies and while you have experience in command I do not recall you funding your own venture before."

Logen frowns. "I have no money to fund it. You wish me to raid villages while remaining honorable and chivalrous. You wish me to fail." He shrugs still rather emotionless. "I will have to set off alone to first acquire funds to pay sell swords and children playing as knights. Once I have paid them, I will have to watch them so they do not dishonor your great name. In that, I will fail. So avoiding dishonoring you, I will just leave."

Tyrel says, "No money? You have your allowance as you have always had, you have your armor, horse and weaponry, your personal effects and such funds as you have set aside in the past and such income as you might have from those businesses and commoners in your care. I assure you, brother, that you are quite fantastically wealthy compared to most given the task, but still I think this effort should teach you some measure of understanding what it is to be a commander when you do not have the support of the entire army about you."

Logen frowns. "You forget, brother. My allowance stopped when I married Cait. I paid for the wedding. I had to pay for the gifts for my second wife. I do not have armor or my weapons. My personal affects left, after I sold everything to fund your army… is my bed." He stares at his brother. "I've never had the support of an army. I'm not the king." He is trying to keep his composure. "I have no businesses or commoners in my care. Father took all those away. It's like you enjoy rubbing it in my face that I'm a poor man living in a castle." He shakes his head and turns. He moves towards the door frustrated.

Tyrel nods, "Perhaps I do forget… you were often scolded for your actions and I did not pay attention to every punishment. I will see that you have such personal effects as befit your title, armor, arms, horse, pavilion and so-on, and that your allowance be re-instituted."

Logen turns to stares at Tyrel. "What title? I'm no one. I'm not a prince. You have two beautiful young princes. You are king. Your wife queen." He stares at his brother. "I am no one. You took away the one thing that made me useful, a political marriage and Father made sure your embarrassment of a brother would not interrupt your rule by removing everything from me." He shakes his head. "You've won this game you play. You once told me that I was the worst thing to happen in your life." He takes a deep breath. "All I wanted was a brother. Though I will do as you request. I will get a company of however many I can convince to follow me and we will raid. When I am killed or captured, you've lost nothing and you get your wish. I'll be gone." He turns again heading for the door.

Tyrel finishes his mead as Logen moves to the door.

Logen opens the door and closes it behind him, moving to his room to pack everything up to leave.

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